


in the dark we make a brighter light

by tuckercolour



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 17th Century, 19th Century, 20th Century, Accidental Cuddling, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Armaggedn't, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Breaking Up & Making Up, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Feelings Realization, Fingerfucking, Forbidden Love, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Gentle Sex, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Historical References, Kissing, Loss of Powers, Making Love, Morning Wood, Nonbinary Aziraphale (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Other, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Queer Guardian Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-07-27 16:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20049382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuckercolour/pseuds/tuckercolour
Summary: Four centuries before Armageddon is set into motion, an angel and a demon negotiate an extension of their unique Arrangement tolend a hand where needed.Not long after Armageddon fails to happen, Heaven and Hell find a new way to punish them.(title from Brian May "Driven By You")





	1. Chapter 1

**London, October 1604**

Aziraphale sighed contentedly as he lay back on his bed. Today he was finally home again, after having snuck over to Germany and back by non-miraculous means to acquire his signed copy of _Naometria (Nova)_ – a rather heretical new book of numerological Rosicrucian prophecies by Simon Studion, who had once predicted that the Papacy must fall this very year – without head office catching wind of it. (The Papacy, of course, had not fallen, and would not fall, thanks in part to a few minor interventions as ordered from above.) On the way back through France, he'd encountered a very handsome young man named François, who was mercifully fluent in English and heading in the same direction. They had travelled together for a little over a week, and Aziraphale had been quite hopeful that this companion might be _interested_ in him, since it had been rather a while since he had last found company of that nature; alas, while François was indeed quite definitely gay, he confessed one night after a few ales that he was in love with a friend from his town just south of Calais, and was journeying home after receiving word that his beloved Michel was considering getting married to appease his family. Once they got there, a little searching his sense for Love, a little angelic advice on all sides (and perhaps a minor miracle or two, but it was for a good cause, and Heaven were rather used to him popping just across the channel anyway, so what did it matter), and he'd managed to find a lovely lesbian couple in the next small town who were more than happy to keep up appearances without having to find _real_ husbands. François promised him an invitation to the eventual joint wedding ceremony.

A happy ending, for sure, and Aziraphale was very pleased with the whole thing, except of course for wishing society would hurry up and just let François marry Michel directly. But... he had rather got his hopes up travelling alone with François, and it really _had_ been far too long...

With a slightly different kind of sigh, the angel reached down to unlace his hose and slip a hand into his drawers. It would be good to let off some steam now he was finally alone. He closed his eyes and, somewhat guiltily, pictured François' face. The Frenchman had an angular jaw, a long straight nose, soft ginger curls, and hazel-brown eyes that shone bright in the midday sun when he smiled. Aziraphale thought of that smile as he brushed his fingers softly over his clit, paused to wet them on his tongue, then resumed, unhurried, enjoying the indulgence of slowly bringing himself to higher arousal, until he felt his cunt throb and dipped lower into that wetness –

"At blessed last you're home, Angel, I've been – uh."

Aziraphale's head snapped up at the sound of Crowley's voice, his hand freezing in surprise and a blush immediately blooming on his cheeks. The demon was standing in the doorway to his bedroom, jaw slack, shock clear on his face despite the dark glasses hiding his eyes, and seemed frozen in place as well. 

"Cr-Crowley," Aziraphale stuttered. "What are you doing here?"

He spluttered incoherently for a moment before exclaiming, "What am _I_ doing, what are _you_ doing?!"

"I _live_ here," he pointed out, somewhat indignantly. 

"I mean, with your –" Crowley gestured vaguely towards Aziraphale's drawers, from which he only then removed his hand, wiping his fingers hastily on the linen, blush deepening. 

"I would have thought that was fairly obvious," he said curtly. "You can't tell me you're not familiar with the concept."

"You're – you're an _angel."_ Crowley said this like it was at all relevant, which it really wasn't.

"What's your point?" Aziraphale found himself rather irritated at having not only been rudely interrupted, but now questioned as though he was doing something terribly sinful. Well, perhaps the thoughts of François were a little less than holy, considering he belonged to another, but Crowley didn't even know about that!

"What's my p – my – you're – you – j – I – wh –" Crowley seemed to flail around for words. "I didn't know you – went in for that sort of thing."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Well you needn't act so surprised. You know how much I enjoy good food and wine, how much I appreciate humanity and earthly comforts, is it any wonder that I long ago added sexual pleasure to the list?"

Crowley took a deep, unnecessary, steadying breath. "Sexual. Pleasure."

"Yes."

"You _masturbate."_

"Evidently. Though not, I might add, with the front door unlocked! Did you teleport in here?"

"You'd been in Europe for weeks!" he said defensively. "There's a blessed supernova going on, and I've been busy all over England with a dozen little temptations I couldn't really get out of, so I haven't been able to talk to you about it at all, and today you're finally home, so I thought I'd pop by! I didn't exactly feel like waiting around any longer! What the Heaven were you doing in Europe for so long, anyway?"

"I was – I was getting a book," Aziraphale explained, looking away sheepishly. "It's a new prophecy book, and you know how I feel about those, but it's – well, it's most certainly not the kind head office would approve of, so I took the long way. No miracles for them to notice, you see."

"A book," Crowley repeated. "Of course it was for a book. Did you even hear about the supernova?"

"I did! I saw it in the skies over France." He almost forgot his embarrassment in the excitement of this. "I assume you've observed it too? I thought you'd rather like it. François seemed less impressed."

"Who the fuck is François?"

"Crowley! That language is quite unnecessary," Aziraphale reprimanded him. "François is the travelling companion I picked up on my way home. A very nice young man, very handsome, and hopelessly in love with a fellow called Michel in his hometown. I helped set them up with a pair of women equally in love, and amenable to an arrangement that would keep all their respective families off their backs."

"Of course you did." Crowley shook his head, but he was failing to suppress a small fond smile. "How do you always manage to run into these ganymedes and tribades?"

"I sense love, remember? And in my experience, love that is considered in some way _forbidden_ tends to stand out all the more. Besides, I do my best to cultivate an air which lets such people know that I am a safe person to be around."

"You let them think you're one of them, you mean."

"Well, it's not so far off, now, is it? I may not have a gender as such, but I am nearly always presenting as male, without wishing to affect the kind of masculinity most men aiming to impress women seem to go in for."

"That's not the same as being attracted to them, angel. You do realise they actually fuck each other, right? That it's not just _love,_ but _sex?"_

Aziraphale huffed. "Of course I realise, Crowley, where do you think I learnt sexual pleasure from?"

There was a long pause. "You," Crowley started, then stopped, chewing on air for another moment. "You – y – _you,_ angel, you've – you actually, what, you've, you've fucked humans?" he managed eventually.

"There's no need to be so crude about it, but yes, I sleep with humans. After all," he pointed out with raised brow, "I'm not exactly sure who _else_ I'd be sleeping with."

"Ngk," said Crowley, then, "Listen, before today I'd never imagined that you slept with anyone at all, so you'll have to excuse me needing a moment to process."

Aziraphale laughed. "Any chance you could go process in another room, perhaps? Only I wasn't exactly finished here." Internally, he reminded his body who was in charge here, and didn't blush again.

Crowley looked a little like he was having an aneurysm. "You're going to just – get back to it?"

"Well, I'd quite like to."

"Didn't get enough from François?" There was a strange note of distaste in Crowley's voice that puzzled the angel, but he was distracted by surprise that he'd even remembered François' name.

"Of course not, François was in love with Michel, remember? We didn't sleep together at all." He wasn't quite able to keep the discontent from his own voice at that, and winced inwardly as Crowley immediately accused,

"But you wanted to?"

"Yes, if you must know!" he answered hotly, a frown now on his face. "I had rather hoped – but then he told me about Michel, so naturally, it was out of the question! Now will you _please_ let me work out my frustration in peace?"

The demon, however, took a step towards the bed, not away. "I _could,"_ he drawled. "Unless, of course, you wanted a hand...?"

Aziraphale's mouth was suddenly very dry. "A – a hand, Crowley?"

"Sure," he shrugged, stepping closer again, almost predatory. "Just like in our Arrangement, right? _Lend a hand where needed._ Only in a slightly different context this time."

Swallowing, the angel considered the matter. Really, it was a very good idea. It wasn't always easy to find human partners he was especially interested in, and he could only ever have (to his immortal mind) short-term flings anyway, lest they start to notice his lack of aging. Plus, he had to give them a Christian name to call him by, and give himself either a penis, which always felt like rather more Effort to him than his preferred vulva, or breasts, which just felt a little odd on this body and only even worked with ladies who understood why one of their own might be outwardly dressed like a man, unless he _also_ went to the effort of wearing a dress and long hair... An extension of the Arrangement with Crowley would comfortably tide him over between such efforts, and probably be considerably more fun than continuing to simply deal with it himself all the time. There wasn't actually any heavenly law that specifically _forbade_ sex with demons. And besides, it wasn't like head office had to know, right?

"You know what," he said, smiling up at Crowley once more, "you're absolutely right."

Crowley, who had been just starting to take another step towards him, faltered and almost tripped. "I am?"

"Yes, I rather think so," Aziraphale nodded decisively. "I would very much appreciate your hand-lending in this matter – if you were in fact offering," he added, suddenly worried he'd misread. Crowley made another strange noise, but then said,

"Sure. Yeah. Absolutely, of course. Let's get it on."

Pleased, Aziraphale sat up to pull his hose the rest of the way off and shimmy out of his drawers. "How do you want to do this?" he asked conversationally.

"Well, uh, I was being pretty literal with the whole _lend a hand_ phrasing," said Crowley, wiggling his fingers to illustrate. He had removed his glasses and was staring openly at Aziraphale's naked lower half. "Though. I do also have a very talented tongue."

_Goodness,_ that brought up some exciting mental images. The angel felt his previous arousal rapidly returning. "I'm sure you do," he managed to reply. "Perhaps you'd like to demonstrate?"

Apparently, Crowley had decided not to waste any more time, and Aziraphale gasped when he swiftly ducked his head to run said tongue all the way from fourchette to clitoris in one broad sweep then immediately curl around the hardness there. Wait a second, that wasn't just curling so much as –

"Are you using your _forked_ tongue?"

The demon merely winked in reply and waggled his serpentine tongue against him, running his hands up Aziraphale's inner thighs. He dropped his head to the pillow with a groan. Yes, this was exactly what he needed. Crowley threw himself into the task as though the fluid now fairly dripping from Aziraphale's cunt was sweet honeyed wine and he was determined to get very, very drunk. When he pushed into him and moved both tongue tips, the angel's hand instinctively flew to Crowley's head, fingers slipping through his hair and tightening a little at the base of his skull. _"Oh,"_ he murmured, feeling that tongue move in and out while rippling along its length. "Oh, _yes."_

If he'd been able to do so without stopping, Aziraphale was sure Crowley would have made some smart remark at the reactions he was causing. As it was, he simply hummed a little against him and grasped harder at the angel's thick, slightly trembling thighs as he continued his efforts, speeding up a little and making him gasp out another moan.

After only a few minutes of this, the sounds now spilling ceaselessly out of Aziraphale's mouth grew higher and more urgent, and he held Crowley's face tight against his cunt as his whole body shook. Immediately post orgasm he released his grip and put his hand back down on his own stomach. Crowley... didn't stop. He barely even slowed down for a moment, despite the strong thighs clenching tight against his ears before relaxing again.

"Crowley, I – oh, oh my," Aziraphale panted. "I'm –"

"I know," said Crowley, finally pausing for a moment, but his face was still so close between his legs that Aziraphale could feel the movement of his lips as he went on, "but don't you want to keep going?" He flicked his tongue against the angel's sensitive clit, making him jolt a little, and looked up to make eye contact at last.

"Yes," he found himself whispering without even thinking about it. Evidently that was all the permission the demon needed, and it wasn't long again before Aziraphale was coming for a second time, with Crowley's lips around his clit and two long, clever fingers crooked inside him.

_"Crowley,"_ he sighed afterwards, sated and happy, watching the demon wipe the slick from his chin and pick his glasses back up. "That was wonderful, my dear."

"Of course it was," he said with a smug smile. Aziraphale pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked down at the erection tenting Crowley's breeches. 

"Now, you must let me return the favour!"

To his surprise, Crowley flushed slightly, turned away and muttered, "No, no, it's fine, I can just get rid of it."

"I really don't mind," Aziraphale insisted, frowning. "I'd be more than happy to –"

"It's fine, angel," he said, turning around to face him again, and sure enough the bulge had completely disappeared. "I'll deal with it later. Sometime. On my own."

"Are you quite sure?" He knew his concern must be clearly written across his face, but Crowley merely gave his usual slight smirk and a carefree hand-wave. 

"Completely. Now. What do you say to some wine and stargazing?"


	2. Chapter 2

For the next two hundred and fifty-eight years, this was how it went: they would meet up, discuss whatever business was necessary, then Aziraphale would invite Crowley back to his place for drinks, and at some point during the evening, the demon would end up with his head and/or hand between the angel's legs for anywhere from one to, on a particularly memorable occasion in the back room of an empty Paris tavern in the middle of a revolution, _six_ quite excellent orgasms. (They had gone out for crêpes, but Crowley had barely touched his, apparently too busy looking forward to the more metaphorical kind of _eating out_ he'd be doing later.)

Aziraphale learnt fairly soon to stop offering reciprocation. "I've told you, I'd rather take care of it myself," Crowley had insisted. "If you keep asking, I'll stop giving you the opportunity, you hear?" "Very well, since you're so sure. Just know that the offer remains open, if you ever change your –" "Yeah, yeah, I got it," he'd interrupted, pouring himself another cup of wine as though nothing had just passed between them, and that had been that.

Then came one fateful day in the middle of the nineteenth century, when everything went very wrong.

**St James' Park, 1862**

"It would destroy you! I am not bringing you a _suicide pill,_ Crowley!" The very thought – the thought of a world without this particular demon – horrified him in ways he didn't wish to examine too closely.

"That's not what I want it for, just insurance."

What the hell did that even mean? "I'm not an idiot, Crowley," he said, as though he actually knew. "Do you know what trouble I'd be in if –" He glanced nervously upwards. "If they knew I'd been – _fraternising?_ It's completely out of the question."

_"Fraternising?"_ Crowley repeated back at him in a dangerous sort of voice, and Aziraphale knew he'd messed up.

"Well, whatever you wish to call it." That really didn't fix the matter at all, but honestly, he was still so shaken up by the request for holy water it was difficult to think straight. In fact, "I do not think there is any point in discussing it further."

"I have lots of other people to _fraternise_ with, angel," said Crowley, proving _his_ mind was firmly on the other point.

"Oh, of course you do." Why did that sound so bitter to his ears?

"I don't need you."

"Well, and the feeling is mutual!" Aziraphale lied, ignoring the flare of pain in his heart as he began to storm off, hurling the offending slip of paper into the river. "Obviously!"

And he left, barely hearing Crowley's mocking _"Obviously"_ behind him, and they didn't see each other for seventy-nine years.

It wasn't like it was the first time they hadn't met up in that long. Before they had both ended up stationed in Great Britain long-term, they had sometimes gone even centuries apart and thought little of it. But now, having become rather used to much more frequent (and intimate) encounters, and after a fight like that? Aziraphale privately wondered, only fifty years in, whether this nameless ache in his chest might be what Hell felt like. 

Soon enough, though, the world wars started, and he realised how much worse things could really get. Suddenly it felt rather selfish to focus on his own personal sadness, with so much trauma, violence and loss befalling everyone around him. That didn't mean it wasn't still on his mind. 

**London, 1941**

The sight of Crowley dancing awkwardly down the aisle of the church, demonic feet almost steaming from the burn of the consecrated ground, filled Aziraphale with too many conflicting emotions to name. "What are _you_ doing here?" he found himself hissing as soon as he regained use of his voice.

"Stopping _you_ getting into trouble," Crowley answered, still hopping in pain. Utterly ridiculous, thought Aziraphale. Why would he put himself in such clear agony just to stop a mildly inconvenient discorporation after all these years? And how did he even know where to find him?

"I should have known, of course!" he deduced. "These people are working for you!"

Crowley seemed genuinely offended by the accusation. _"No!_ They're a bunch of – half-witted Nazi spies, running around London, blackmailing and murdering people, I just didn't want to see _you_ embarrassed."

Aziraphale's attempt to process this was interrupted by hearing one of the Nazis use a full name he hadn't heard before. _"Anthony?"_

"You don't like it?"

"No, no, I didn't say that," said Aziraphale, who didn't like it. "I'll get used to it." He ignored Fraulein Greta Kleinschmidt's threats to continue, "What does the J stand for?"

"Ah, whuhnh, 'sss just a J really," Crowley admitted, before getting abruptly distracted. "Look at that! A whole font full of holy water. Doesn't even have guards!"

Oh, not this again. Aziraphale was almost glad when the Nazi behind him returned them to the matter at hand, even if that matter was shooting them.

"In about a minute," said the demon, as if the man hadn't spoken, "a German bomber will release a bomb that will land," he pointed for emphasis, "right here. If you all run away, very, _very_ fast, you might not die. You won't enjoy dying – definitely won't enjoy what comes after."

"You expect us to believe that?" The Nazi seemed utterly unconcerned. "The bombs tonight will fall on the East End."

"Yes," Crowley nodded. "It would take a last minute _demonic intervention_ to throw them off course. Yes." Aziraphale gaped at him. "You're all wasting your valuable running away time! And, if, uh, in thirty seconds a bomb _does_ land here, it would take a _real miracle_ for my friend and I to survive it." He raised his eyebrows at the angel as he said that, and he got the point.

"A – a real, miracle," he repeated with a half nod, privately focused on the phrasing _my friend and I._ So, as Crowley saw it, they were still friends, at least? The relief of that knowledge was incalculable.

"Kill them, they are very irritating," said the other Nazi. But at that moment, as the demon pointed up to the roof of the church he should never really have stepped into in the first place, the telltale whistling of a falling bomb began to sound. All right – miracle time. 

Standing in the bombed-out ruins of the church, Aziraphale was alone with Crowley again at long last. "That was very kind of you," he offered, holding his hat to his chest.

"Shut up," Crowley scowled, but he was clearly fighting back a smile.

"Well, it was. No paperwork, for a start." Suddenly, the angel realised something, and his eyes widened in horror. "Oh the books! Oh... I forgot _all_ the books! Oh, they'll – all be blown to –" He stopped, staring. 

Crowley was wrenching a bag from the arm of a very dead Nazi amongst the rubble. Their fingers brushed as he handed it over. 

"Little demonic miracle of my own," he said, before turning to leave. "Lift home?"

Aziraphale watched him, stunned to the spot and impossibly in love.

Oh, _fuck._

The most surprising thing about this realisation was that it wasn't a surprise at all, but a long-overdue admission of something he'd known, deep down, on some level, for quite a long time; something that had been brewing and growing for centuries, if not a millennium, and finally bubbled over into enough of a _something_ to put a name to. He was completely, profoundly, irrevocably, head over heels in love with a demon.

What the _hell_ was he supposed to do with that?

"Coming, angel?" the demon in question called from over by what Aziraphale assumed must be his car, a rather beautiful Bentley that was at least a decade out of date, but shiny as if it were brand new. He hurried over, clutching the book bag close to his chest. "Still at the bookshop, I presume?"

"Oh, ah, yes, yes, that's right." 

Crowley gave him a strange look as they both slipped into the car and shut the doors. "Are you all right?"

"Quite," he lied. "Just, you know, a little shaken. Getting bombed and all that. Doing a big miracle. Thinking I'd lost the books. And – Crowley," he said, tasting that name in his mouth again at last, "my dear, it's been rather a long time."

"... It has." For a moment, it seemed like that was all he was going to say on the matter, as he turned the key in the ignition and started to drive. But then, trying and failing to sound casual, he added, "Let's not do that again."

Aziraphale's heart swelled. "Let's not," he agreed softly.

They drove in companionable silence for a few minutes before the angel suddenly asked, "How did you know I was there, and in trouble?"

"Working with British counter-intelligence," Crowley shrugged. "Head office think I'm feeding misinformation to both sides, just to increase the chaos, but, well, I'm not gonna help _Nazis,_ even indirectly. They're spreading more than their fair share of evil by themselves, and not the fun kind, either. Plus, there's enough human false agents and regular cock-ups for me to take credit for, they don't notice if I'm actually helping ol' Blighty."

_Lord,_ he really was in love. "Not the _fun kind,_ eh?" he said dryly. 

"Hey, I'm a demon, I've gotta enjoy _some_ evil. But I can still have _standards."_ He shuddered. "I've heard things the public don't know about, and it's..." There was a haunted, sickened look on his face, and Aziraphale felt the need to change the subject.

"So, where are you living these days?"

"Oh, I've got a little flat in Mayfair," he said, and they successfully made small talk until the Bentley pulled up at the kerb outside A. Z. Fell & Co.

"Well, this is me," Aziraphale said unnecessarily. He got out of the car; so did Crowley. Oh dear. He would be expecting an invite in, for drinks and – well. How could they go back to that, now he had really truly realised his feelings? How could he let the demon he was _in love with_ do those oh-so-wonderful things to him, and not be able – not be permitted even to offer – to do anything for him in return? How could he bear not to pull him in for a kiss after, or to tell him how much he loved him? 

"You sure you're all right?"

Damn it, he must have been visibly fretting. "I'm fine," he lied again. "I think I'd like to get these books all sorted back into their rightful places straight away, after all that. Maybe sit down to reread some of Mother Shipton's over a nice cup of tea."

Crowley looked puzzled, but said, "Well, goodnight, then, I suppose. Before you go –" He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an honest-to-goodness business card. "Here. So you know where to find me again."

"Ah! Yes, thank you," said Aziraphale, looking it over briefly. It read _Mr. Anthony J. Crowley_ in large fancy lettering, followed by a street address and a telephone number. "I'm afraid I don't have one of these nifty little cards to give you in return, but I do have my own telephone in the shop now! So I'll – I'll give you a ring sometime, when you're at home, and you can write down my number if I tell it to you then, can't you? Only I don't know it by heart, you see. It's written down next to the telephone."

An amused smile had spread across Crowley's face through that somewhat superfluous explanation. "You do that, angel. See you around." He climbed back into the car.

Later that night, having indeed made sure all the books of prophecy were back in their rightful places and poured himself a large mug of calming chamomile tea, Aziraphale sank into his favourite armchair and heaved a long, deep sigh. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

The thing was, he wasn’t actually sure what Heaven’s reaction would be if they found out about – well, _any_ of this. He was less worried about the sex than the rest of the Arrangement. Plenty other angels had succumbed to various sins when assigned to Earth for extended periods, and while he wasn’t aware of any having been intimate with demons specifically, he knew none of them had Fallen; they were reassigned, sometimes permanently, and expected not to do it again, but that was all. Falling was about _faith,_ not sin. Forgiveness could cover a multitude of sinful actions, so long as one still believed in the Almighty’s great ineffable plan and kept allegiance to Her rather than to Satan. 

Which was why his cooperation with Crowley’s temptations of the humans worried Aziraphale far more than anything they did in bed. (Or in a chair, on a table, against a wall, on an ornate rug right on the hardwood floor… but that wasn’t the point.) Would that count as working for Satan, if anyone found out? Or could he successfully make the case that the blessings performed by Crowley cancelled those out? Besides, sometimes the angel managed to soften the blow of some of those temptations assigned from below – the kind Crowley himself would also probably have twisted into something slightly less Hellish, no matter how much he’d deny it after – so surely taking such things out of a demon’s hands could be construed as a good deed?

He’d been over these arguments in his head a thousand times over the last millennium; he assumed Crowley had prepared a similar case in reverse in the event that Hell should ever pick up on the matter. He still worried for the demon, sometimes, since Hell would likely be rather harsher in its punishments, but it was Crowley who’d always insisted, so he must think himself reasonably safe.

_Love,_ though.

Loving an angel would have to earn a demon the very harshest of punishments, he was sure. And he would _not_ be responsible for that happening to Crowley. It was unthinkable.

**Soho, London, 1967**

The whole business with the holy water was a bad enough idea already, but Aziraphale hadn’t anticipated how damned _soft_ Crowley would get after he handed it over. That wouldn’t do at all. Far too dangerous, he had to shut it down. And yet,

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed. Perhaps one day, we could – I don’t know. Go for a picnic,” he suggested anyway, knowing it was a lie. “Dine at the Ritz.” And _oh,_ how he wanted. But oh, how they couldn’t.

“I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you wanna go.”

It was too much. Too close. Aziraphale’s heart broke as he said, “You go too _fast_ for me Crowley,” and let himself out of the car.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one took a little longer, hope it's worth the wait :)

**Bristol Cathedral, 12 March 1994**

It had been a long time since Aziraphale had seen Crowley presenting female, but as he exited the cathedral, he recognised her immediately, leaning against a tree just beyond the edge of the consecrated ground in a dark red velvet blazer over an ankle-length slip dress of black silk. Her hair was chin-length and straightened; the dark glasses she wore were rimmed with red and black tortoiseshell. She nodded in acknowledgement at his approach.

"I’m surprised to see you here," he greeted her.

"Well, I figured you wouldn’t miss it," she shrugged, stepping beside him. Her high heels made a satisfying _click-clack_ on the pavement as they walked along together. "First women to get to be Church of England priests?"

"It is rather wonderful, isn’t it?" Aziraphale beamed.

"Eehhh," Crowley said noncommittally, though she was visibly fighting back a smile.

"Oh, well, not for your lot, I suppose."

"That's not what the protesters think," she pointed out. "They think it's all our demonic work." 

Aziraphale gave her a pained look. _"Please_ tell me you didn't have anything to do with the protests, Crowley, dear?" 

"Of course not! Just had a couple routine temptations in the area yesterday. Thought maybe we could catch up."

The angel softened immediately. "Oh, well, in that case. I quite fancy going out for dinner, what do you say?" 

"I say, lead the way!" 

Two hours later, Aziraphale was gently dabbing at his chin with a napkin, empty sushi plates arrayed on the table between them. "That was quite delightful," he said.

Crowley, who had only really eaten a few bites, nonetheless hummed in agreement. "So," she said. "Are you staying in the area any longer?"

"No, I’ll be heading back to the bookshop tonight."

"Fancy a lift?"

Aziraphale sighed. "Crowley, it’s a three hour drive, and I’m here on official business. I’m going to miracle myself home."

"Boring," she shrugged. "You keep refusing, I’ll begin to think you’ve got something against my car."

"Or against your driving," he pointed out dryly. 

"I take offence at that," Crowley pouted. "You’re the one who complained at the length of the drive."

"I don’t wish to fix that by speeding down the motorways and risking discorporation, not to mention harm to anyone we happen to crash into! Besides, this has nothing to do with you, it’s just a matter of convenience. Why would I sit in a car – anyone’s car! – for hours when I could be home in a snap of my fingers?"

"Because you’re enjoying the company?" She suggested it flippantly enough, but Aziraphale noticed the hopeful undercurrent, and sighed again.

"We could _both_ be back in an instant, and your car back wherever you usually keep it, if you put a little effort in as well."

A relieved smile flitted across her face before she could hide it. "All right, lazybones. We’ll _wing it."_

In but a moment they were seated comfortably in the back room of A. Z. Fell & Co, Crowley kicking her shoes off and wincing slightly as she rubbed her heels. "Why did I invent these?" she lamented.

"Something about the _tempting_ way it makes people’s legs look, I believe."

"Is it working?" She stretched her legs out, toes pointed, pulled her skirt up a few inches and rolled her ankles. Aziraphale swallowed.

"I can’t answer that question, my dear."

"Why not?" And, oh dear, he had a sinking feeling that they’d just reached the crux of the matter. "Angel. We both know you’re no stranger to Lust."

"Excuse me," he said hotly, "I do not _Lust._ Not in the true sense of the word. It is not a sin to desire sexual relations with someone, it is a sin to _demand_ them, or to let one’s desires lead to Envy or Adultery. You’re a demon, you ought to know this."

"Oh, come off it. You’re telling me you’ve never wanted someone you can’t have, thought about it anyway even though you knew it was wrong?"

Aziraphale _knew_ she meant someone already in a committed relationship, but as the words _"someone you can’t have"_ left Crowley’s red-glossed lips, he had to sharply look away. "I – I try not to make a habit of it," he mumbled.

Crowley rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Point is, we both know you fuck, you’re attracted to people in human bodies, which this _practically_ is, visually anyway. So you _could_ tell me if my legs look sexy in these shoes."

"I don’t know, you took them off," he said, without thinking.

"Give me a second." She waved a hand over each foot, disappearing the blisters that had been forming, and reached for her shoes again. Oh, this was a big mistake. He inhaled deeply as he slipped them back on, stood up, and hitched her slinky skirt up to her knees. "Well?"

Aziraphale just stared. He couldn’t help himself. It was only after Crowley gave an impatient sort of huff, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, that he managed, "They are, uh, very – very good shoes, yes. Very – um – effective."

"Oh, I can tell," she drawled, and he glanced up to see her smirking down at him. Oh, _no._

"Then why did you ask?" Aziraphale snapped.

_"Because,"_ Crowley hissed, changing demeanour just as quickly as the angel, "we had an _arrangement,_ and not the boring one, and I thought it was _working,_ and I get that we fought over the holy water but I thought that was over, so I thought we’d be getting back to it, but do you realise this is the first time you’ve actually invited me in since then, and you acted like that was a fucking _chore,_ not like you _wanted_ me here, and I’d quite like to know why!"

"O-oh," said Aziraphale, mollified.

"Yeah, oh." Crowley sighed, flopping back onto the sofa and running a hand through her hair. Her glasses fell up against her forehead; she closed her eyes. "Listen, I – if you don’t want to do that any more, you don’t have to give me a reason. Just _tell me._ I don’t like not knowing where we stand."

"I – I don't know either," he admitted. 

"Well, that's no help." 

"No, I don't suppose it is." 

"Let’s make this simpler, then. What do you want to do right now, tonight? And we'll go from there."

Aziraphale couldn't help but think that Crowley was being very patient and thoughtful with him, but knew she'd hate for him to say it. Patience was a virtue, after all. "I want," he said slowly, considering the matter, "to get us some wine, put something on the gramophone, and – and –" 

"Yes?" she urged, softly. She was looking at him now. 

"And I don't _know_ what I want after that!" the angel lied. He knew exactly what he _wanted._ He _wanted_ to kiss the shiny red lipstick off of Crowley's mouth, feel her sleek hair under his hands, pull her against him, tell her over and over how he loved her, has loved her, will love her for another six thousand years and beyond – but he couldn't do any of those things, now, could he? 

He _couldn't._ "We – we _shouldn't."_

"That didn't bother you for over two hundred years." Suddenly, her eyes narrowed and she sat up sharply, letting her glasses drop back onto her nose. "Angel. They didn't – find something out, did they? Upstairs, I mean?" 

"What?! No!" Aziraphale blinked rapidly in horror at the mere suggestion. "You think I'd be here with you at all if they had? I'd be – I'd be banned from Earth for a millennium! And certainly from getting anywhere near you." 

"But they said something to you? Did someone suspect something? Did some other angel get into trouble with a demon? _What did they say?"_ She was practically snarling by the end of this.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to assure Crowley that no one had said anything, then shut it again as he realised: this was an opportunity. If Crowley thought he was just cowed by Heaven into no longer accepting sexual favours from a demon, he could continue to avoid the real reason. "I couldn't possibly tell you," he said, which wasn't exactly the truth, but wasn't exactly a lie, either. 

"Right," said Crowley, defeated. "I'm a demon, that's angel business. Of course." 

"I am sorry, my dear," he offered, truly honest this time. 

"I know," she muttered. "Uh. You mentioned wine?" 

"Yes! Yes, let me get that..." He hurried off, shoving his guilt and longing further down into the back corner of his mind. 

**A. Z. Fell & Co, 2007**

"Godfathers," Aziraphale breathed, unable to help but beam at the thought. "We'll, I'll be damned." 

Poor choice of words. "It's not that bad when you get used to it," Crowley grinned, with a wink, and something fluttered in the angel's heart. His face fell. 

"Crowley," he said reprovingly, tutting and rolling his eyes when the Cheshire cat grin facing him did not falter. 

"Oh, come on," Crowley continued to tease. "You're the one who said it. Left it wide open, how could I possibly resist? I'm a demon, I'm not meant to resist temptations." 

"Well, you knew what I meant." 

"Sure," he said, still grinning. He reached for the wine again. "Toast to a new deal being struck?" 

"We _just_ sobered up," Aziraphale pointed out, nonetheless picking his glass back up and holding it out. "You are incorrigible, my dear." 

"And you're not complaining." 

"I suppose I'm not." 

**A. Z. Fell & Co (again), 2018**

"We're doomed." 

"Well then." Aziraphale, for lack of anything better to do, raised his glass. "Welcome to the end times." 

Eleven years since they had struck their newest agreement. Six years of working closely side by side at the Dowling estate. All for naught. 

And now they were almost out of time. 

Sod it, thought the angel. "I suppose it really doesn't matter any more, then, does it?" 

"What doesn't?" Crowley frowned, evidently not following. 

Aziraphale put his glass aside and continued, "You know what would make some excellent stress relief right now?" 

Immediately, Crowley shifted, his face changing. That was a line he'd used Before, two centuries ago. _"Now,_ angel?" 

"Now," he confirmed. Crowley slammed his glass down onto the table rather harder than necessary and moved around the table faster than Aziraphale could blink, dropping to his knees between the angel's in one fluid movement, and his breath caught in his throat as he looked down at him. "Well, I didn't mean _here,"_ he said, flustered, looking through the windows into the busy Soho street outside. "Back room, shall we, dear?" 

"Right." Crowley seemed a little embarrassed at his own eagerness. Aziraphale extended a hand and stood, pulling Crowley up with him, before leaving for somewhere a little more private, trusting the demon to follow. 

As soon as they were safely out of sight of the public, Aziraphale turned, unbuttoning his waistcoat as he did. Crowley was on him in an instant, one hand between the angel's legs, the other grabbing a generous handful of his arse. All their countless times doing this they never did kiss, and Crowley always remained fully dressed, his own crotch untouched, but they would sometimes press the full length of their bodies against each other, Aziraphale's head tucked against Crowley's shoulder, Crowley's face in his soft blond curls. This was how they found themselves now. 

After a few moments of rubbing through layers of fabric, Crowley deftly worked open Aziraphale's fly and slipped a hand inside his pants. The sound this caused was muffled by the collar of his jacket. Aziraphale had an arm around Crowley's waist, his other hand on the back of his neck, keeping him close. 

Crowley ran a finger up his slit, parting his lips slightly, all the way to his clit, which he rubbed gentle circles against, working him to arousal. He could feel the nub hardening beneath his fingers. When Aziraphale let out a low moan and tightened his grip on Crowley's neck, the demon knew he was ready for more. 

"Get these off," he murmured against the angel's temple, pushing at his trousers and underwear. Aziraphale complied easily, helping him to drag them over the swell of his arse and down his thighs before stepping back to pull them off altogether. (He'd quietly miracled his shoes into the corner, socks folded neatly inside, to make this easier.) With his free hand, Crowley undid the bottom two buttons of Aziraphale's shirt for even better access. 

His busy hand, meanwhile, was spreading slick up and down the angel's slit in lazy figure-of-eights, circling over the hood each time he reached the top without directly touching his clit again yet. After a couple of minutes, Aziraphale was breathing heavily against him. "Crowley," he groaned, beseeching.

"Yup, that's me," he joked, but there was a slight tremor in his voice which betrayed the effect this was having on him as well.

_"More."_

"Well, if you insist," Crowley practically purred, and dipped a finger inside. _"Satan,_ it’s been a long time, angel."

"I’d prefer if you didn’t bring _him_ into – ah!" He was cut off by Crowley curling his finger at just the right spot, immediately before adding another and repeating the gesture. "Oh, yes, Crowley, that's wonderful," he said instead, then, "Oh! _Perfect,"_ as the two fingers began pumping in earnest, angled to keep hitting his sweet spot on every stroke. 

"Missed this, huh?"

"Lord, yes," Aziraphale confessed. Then, in a moment of boldness, "You?"

Crowley’s rhythm faltered. "...Yeah," he answered softly, after a moment.

"Faster," the angel urged, and he found his rhythm again. After a little fumbling, Crowley’s thumb found his clit and Aziraphale moaned outright. _"Crowley,_ yes, that’s – yes, yes, oh, oh, _yes_ –" He shuddered against him as he came.

"That’s it," Crowley said, working him through it, before gently pulling his fingers out and bringing them to his mouth. Aziraphale’s watered at the sight of the demon licking himself clean. "Up for another?" he asked after, and dropped to his knees.

"Well," said Aziraphale, spreading his legs a little more to accommodate him, "I suppose we do have some catching up to do..."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait! this chapter was really difficult to write, here's hoping the next one will be easier (it should be)

_"You can stay at my place, if you like."_

_"I don’t – I don’t think my side would like that."_

_"You don’t have a side any more. Neither of us do. We’re on our own side."_

He was right, Aziraphale realised, as he followed Crowley out of the lift in the Mayfair high-rise where he lived. There was nothing they could do now that would get either of them in any more trouble with their respective head offices than they were already facing. The thought was terrifying, but also... freeing. Who knew if they'd survive whatever Heaven and Hell had in store for them? But if they did, perhaps they would be free for good, and if they didn’t, then this was his last chance to tell Crowley how he felt.

If only he had the faintest idea how to start.

"It’s not much," Crowley was saying. "I don’t have a guest room, but I know you don’t tend to sleep anyway, so I guess it doesn’t matter. Think I’ve got a decent comfy armchair in the living room... not much to offer in the way of books, though, sorry. Want another drink?"

"What have you got?"

"Eh, let’s have a look." He sauntered into a room off one side, leaving Aziraphale to twiddle his thumbs in the hallway, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to say. "There's some Bordeaux Cabernet Sauvignon from ‘56?"

"That sounds lovely," he replied, not really paying attention. He glanced behind him at the _interesting_ statue in the entranceway, which, if he wasn't much mistaken, appeared to depict an entirely nude demon pinning down an equally naked angel. He felt his face heat up a little and quickly looked away again. 

"Here," said Crowley, handing him a bottle. In his other hand he held two glasses. "This way." He led the angel through a room of verdant and flourishing houseplants ("These are beautiful, Crowley!" "Perfect," he said smugly, adding, with a warning glare around at them, "and they'd better stay that way"), then a well-lit study with an ostentatious throne chair, into another hallway, and finally pushed open a door to a small living room which didn't look like anyone had done much _living_ in it. "I don't exactly spend a lot of time in here," he said unnecessarily. 

"I see," Aziraphale said absently, making a beeline for the single armchair. It was, in fact, a lot more comfortable than it looked. Crowley put the glasses on the coffee table, took the bottle back from Aziraphale, and poured the wine. 

"So. Helped stop an apocalypse." He held his glass up. "Cheers." 

"Cheers, indeed." He watched Crowley splay himself on the sofa in his customary manner. His whole body looked like an invitation, and Aziraphale longed to touch, in all the ways he had still never been allowed. 

There had been times, over the past few days, when it had seemed like Crowley had been about to offer something different, something more reciprocal, a different kind of intimacy, but then he had shied away again. Almost every spare moment alone together, he had crowded the angel against the nearest upright surface and worked a hand between his legs with a sense of urgency – of running out of time. Aziraphale felt that same sense now. 

Perhaps if they were in a similar situation now, he would find it easier to proceed. Certainly he'd felt like it was about to jump out of him during some of those encounters. Honestly, he was surprised that Crowley hadn't pounced on him in the lift, but for some reason he'd seemed terribly anxious about Aziraphale finally seeing his flat, so maybe he just needed time to relax a little first. 

"Hard work, averting Armageddon," he said. "About time we let off some steam, don't you think?" He raised his eyebrows with what he hoped was a sufficiently suggestive kind of smile. 

Crowley paused. He didn't seem as immediately interested as Aziraphale had expected, or hoped. "We've done little else at every possible moment since this whole thing started, angel," he drawled, sipping his wine, the rest of his body oddly tense. 

"Oh," said Aziraphale, face falling at this puzzling response, "well, I suppose." Still, he soldiered on, "But I mean, now we have plenty of time, right? I'm sure it will take our head offices at least a day or so to figure out what to do with us, so in the meantime, perhaps, rather than just the brief stolen moments we've had lately – that is to say, I mean, you remember that night in Paris? We went for hours, my dear, it was –"

"I'm tired," Crowley interrupted, and Aziraphale stopped short. "I just – I just wanna sleep, alright? I know you don't bother with it, but I do, and after everything, I –" He downed the rest of his glass and put it aside. "You do what you like, not in front of the plants mind you, but I'm going to bed. See you tomorrow." 

Watching him leave, Aziraphale felt entirely wrong-footed and confused. They had of course fought the day before, but – well, that was all over now, wasn't it? He'd chosen the Earth, and Crowley himself, over Heaven. He'd stood by him as the world failed to end. He'd accepted his invitation to _"stay at my place, if you like.''_ Why was he acting so strangely now? 

Maybe he really was just too tired for it, he thought. Maybe he really did just want to sleep so badly. Either way, Aziraphale had no desire to get himself off tonight without his demon, so instead, he went in search of whatever books and food this flat might have to offer. 

It was around three o'clock when Aziraphale read something in a book he'd found about plants that made him pause, frown, look at the singed slip of paper from his pocket, reread the passage twice, then hurry to the door he was pretty sure Crowley had disappeared behind several hours earlier and knock urgently. 

"Crowley? Crowley, wake up, I think I know what Agnes's final prophecy means. Crowley? Are you in here? Crowley!" 

"Nnmghnn," came the voice from inside the room. "Urgh. Huh?" 

"Crowley, I need to talk to you," Aziraphale tried again. 

"Mnh. Come in..." 

Aziraphale pushed open the door and shuffled in, clutching the book to his chest. Crowley was propped up on his elbows on a king-size bed with wine-red sheets, in what appeared to be black silk pyjamas. His yellow eyes shone in the dark room but he reached for his glasses on the bedside table and put them on before speaking again. "What the fuck time is it, angel?" 

"Oh, it's, ah," Aziraphale checked his watch, "seventeen minutes past three." 

"Why the fuck did you wake me at three bloody seventeen?" Crowley grumbled. 

"I think I know what Agnes's final prophecy means," he said again. "I was reading this book, you see, _The Wilder Side of Plants,_ and I found the section on the Bee Orchid. The Bee Orchid is so called because its flowers mimic the appearance of –" 

"Did you wake me up in the middle of the blessed night to talk about plants?" 

_"Listen,_ Crowley, it's important, I promise. They mimic the appearance of a certain type of bee, which tricks the bees into pollinating them when they try to mate with the bee that's actually a flower." 

"I remember, are you getting to a point?" 

"Yes! You see, they trick the bees into thinking they're one of them, right? And Agnes's prophecy, _chooſe your faces_ – a-and _playing with fyre._ That could mean hellfire, right? Which would destroy me – but not do a thing to you. And likewise, holy water would destroy you, but not touch me."

"Wait," said Crowley. "Are you suggesting that we have to somehow trick Heaven and Hell into giving the wrong punishment to each of us?" 

"By switching faces," Aziraphale nodded. "Well, whole corporeal forms, as a matter of fact." 

"Can we do that?" 

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't think anyone's ever tried." 

Crowley sighed. "It might work. It really might. Except for one thing, angel." He took his glasses back off. "I can change a lot about my appearance, hell, I can turn into a whole snake, but these eyes? They're the mark of my Fall. They never change." 

Aziraphale couldn't help the pitying look that crossed his face at that, though he regretted it immediately as Crowley scowled and put his glasses on again. "I know. But this isn't just you trying to change your appearance to fit your own whims, is it? This is me offering you my whole –" He stopped just short of saying _body._ "...Appearance, and accepting yours in return. A miracle on _both_ sides, and a mutual exchange. You'll be taking on an angelic form that's being freely given to you. Perhaps that will make the difference."

Crowley looked thoughtful. "You really think Heaven will try to destroy you completely for this?" 

Aziraphale hesitated. "Well, I don't want to believe it," he said softly. "But the prophecy..." 

_"Playing with fyre,"_ Crowley recited, and the angel nodded. 

"I think it best to be prepared for the worst." 

**Several hours later**

"Don’t forget to walk from your _hips."_

"And you don’t forget not to!"

"This is still so _weird."_

"It’s only temporary, my dear. And I really think we’ve got it down."

**The Ritz, that afternoon**

"To the world," said Crowley with a soft smile, raising his glass of champagne.

Aziraphale could hardly bear how in love he felt at that moment. "To the world," he agreed, voice full of emotion, while what he really meant was, _To you, Crowley. You are my world._ Their glasses clinked together and they both took a long sip. 

"Good champagne," the demon commented. 

"Oh, yes! I chose it quite specifically," Aziraphale said happily, and began an in-depth explanation of his choice which somehow managed to last until they'd eaten halfway through their cakes (well, Aziraphale did most of the eating).

"I suppose you're pretty eager to get back and see your bookshop all in one piece after all," Crowley said when they were finished, "even if you never actually saw it – well." 

"Yes, I think I'd quite like that," he smiled. "And you'll want to check on your car, I'm sure! You did have rather a _moment_ when – well." 

"I did put the old girl through rather a lot yesterday..." 

"So, perhaps we could walk towards your place together first (since it is just a little closer to here) and then retire to the bookshop for the evening?" Aziraphale suggested. Crowley seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then nodded. 

"Sounds like a plan."

When they began the walk back over to where the Bentley was parked, Crowley had shoved his hands – or, well, as much of his fingers as would fit given his ridiculously tight jeans – in his pockets, but Aziraphale held out his arm hopefully. They had occasionally walked arm-in-arm in the past when Crowley had been a woman; he saw no reason why they couldn't do that as two men now, in the year 2018, with no one above or below keeping score. 

"What," Crowley said flatly as Aziraphale proffered his arm more insistently. 

"Oh, come on," he said, eyes pleading in that way he knew the demon just couldn't resist. 

"Why?" he complained, but he had already removed his near hand from its tiny pocket and was looping it through the crook of Aziraphale's elbow all the same. 

"Well, why not?" the angel pointed out, beaming up at him. 

"Fine..."

Their arms remained linked until they reached the Bentley, at which point Aziraphale politely pretended not to notice Crowley's emotional reaction before getting in. "Good to see you again," he murmured, running his hands affectionately over the steering wheel. He turned to Aziraphale who had just slid into the passenger seat next to him. "To the bookshop, then?" 

"Oh, please!" 

A slight flush dusted Crowley's cheeks as he turned the ignition. In no time at all they were pulling up outside A. Z. Fell & Co. 

"It's like nothing ever happened!" 

"There are the new books I mentioned inside," Crowley reminded him. "You'll have to check more thoroughly if there's anything missing." 

"Oh, I definitely shall," said Aziraphale, pushing open the door. "But first! You must show me where you noticed something new!" 

Crowley followed him in, smiling slightly, and gestured towards the set of Just William books to the left of the entrance. "Well, there's these," he said. 

"Oh, so there are!" said Aziraphale, as though they hadn't immediately caught his attention before Crowley had even entered the shop. "I may not usually keep much in the way of children's books in my collection, but they are classics, at least. Never actually read them myself though." 

"We were never children," Crowley mused. 

"But Adam is. Perhaps these are some of his favourites." 

"Seems likely." 

Aziraphale picked up the first book of the collection and turned it over to read the blurb. "First editions, as well. Thank you, Adam!" 

"I wonder how he knew what you like, and how your bookshop was before the fire, and all of that." 

"I don't suppose he does, consciously. He probably has no idea the knowledge his powers could grant him. And thank goodness he doesn't seem to want to." 

"He's a good kid," Crowley nodded. "Much more decent than Warlock. We fucked his childhood up for no reason, eh?" 

_"You,_ ah, effed it up, perhaps," Aziraphale said indignantly. _"I_ was a positive guiding influence that I doubt he would have found elsewhere, what with his father being who he was." 

"Yeah, well, I was far closer to the kid than you were. Probably had more influence on the poor sod." 

Aziraphale hummed, placing the book back. "Would you really have had me kill him?" he couldn't help but ask. "Adam, bad enough, but for the sake of the world… but like you say, you were close to Warlock. Could you really have –" 

"You know I don't like the thought of killing kids," Crowley interrupted. He'd shoved his fingers back into his pockets and turned his face away, his shoulders hunched in. "I didn't... it was the only thing I could think of. I didn't really think you'd do it, anyway, not with Warlock. I thought maybe, if I suggested the worst, it might, I don't know, kick-start your brilliant brain into thinking of something _better._ Drive home how vital it was to have a plan. With Adam... well, then we really had run out of options, eh? I mean, we thought we had. One kid I'd never met before (or, well, except handing him over as a baby, I suppose) versus the whole world... I thought I could justify it. Don't know how I'd feel now, if what's-her-name hadn't stopped you. Probably best not to think about it."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up," Aziraphale said softly, feeling wretched. "You're right, we shouldn't think about it, especially not now. Today we're _celebrating._ We made it! And no one had to die!" 

"Except Ligur." Crowley didn't seem too upset about whoever that was, so he put two and two together and asked, 

"Was that the demon you killed? They mentioned something about that in your trial." 

"Yeah. Bucket of holy water over his head. Was mainly aiming for Hastur, really, he's such an asshole, but –" 

"You used the holy water I gave you?" 

"Yup. Insurance, like I said. Worked like a charm." 

"When was this?" inquired Aziraphale. 

"You remember when you called to say you knew where the Antichrist was? Yeah, Hastur had just finished screaming. And destroying my plant mister, bless it..."

"Your plant mister?" The angel was baffled. 

"Told him it was full of holy water too, but he called my bluff." 

"Ah." There was a moment of silence between them before he said, as though none of the intervening conversation had happened, "So! Was there anything else new?" 

"Not that I noticed," Crowley replied, easily slipping back into casual mode as well. "Wanna go have a look around together?" 

Aziraphale smiled widely. "That sounds excellent, my dear."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is so so late, I'm chronically ill and had a couple bad flare-ups the past month, and I can't promise the next chapter will be up real soon either, but I'm doing my best! Thank you for all your comments, they mean so much to me!

"But if – if I'm not, if I'm not out doing temptations, flexing my _wiles,_ fomenting dis – discord, what do I _do_ with myself?" Crowley slurred, drunkenly waving his mostly empty wine glass around. It was several days after their afternoon tea at the Ritz, and he'd turned up at the bookshop again to complain that he was interminably bored. "It's not just my _job,_ it's all I've ever _done,_ I'm not gonna just stop because no one's sending orders or, or, or keeping score!" 

"It's not _all_ you've ever done," Aziraphale pointed out, very slightly less drunk. "You've done blessings and miracles for me, hundreds of 'em, lots and lots." 

"Ah, but it was only fun 'cause I knew _you_ were out evil-ing on my behalf." 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "That's not true, I know you had fun with some of them. Putting your own flashy spin on them," he said, gesturing vaguely. "And besides. Y'ere an angel once."

"Long –" Crowley burped. "Long, long time ago, angel. Long long time ago I was one of you."

"But still," Aziraphale insisted. "Not _all_ you've _ever_ done. You built galaxies!" 

Crowley fell off the sofa. "Who told you that?" he demanded. 

"You did! Back in fifteen... fifteen... well, fifteen something, I think."

"Oh," said Crowley, sitting up on the floor. "Oh, I must have been very drunk. I don't – I don't talk about that. About _before."_

"No, I'd noticed." 

"I'm very drunk now," Crowley continued, as though he'd only just noticed this fact. "Not gonna talk about it, though. Gonna –" He heaved himself back into the sofa. "Pass out, I think." He promptly did so. 

Shaking his head, Aziraphale wandered unsteadily off to find a blanket (tartan, of course) to drape over Crowley's sleeping form. He then sobered up and set about checking his entire inventory. 

It was around two hours into this process when Aziraphale started to feel just a little _off._ Half an hour later, he was certain of it: something was wrong. He couldn't quite put his finger on _what,_ though. Much as he hated to disturb Crowley's rest (his sleeping face looked so deceptively peaceful), it seemed wise to ask if he felt it too. It might be nothing... but it might not. 

"Crowley," he said, gently shaking the demon's shoulder. "Wake up, dear. Something's wrong." 

“Hmf?” Crowley mumbled sleepily. "I was dreaming." He shifted, then froze. "Uh." 

Aziraphale followed his gaze down his body. Oops. "Terribly sorry, I didn't realise. Would you like a moment in private to –" 

"No, no, I'll just get rid of it the quick way," said Crowley, waving a hand at his morning wood. 

Nothing happened. 

"Hang on," he frowned, and snapped his fingers. His erection remained. "It's not – I can't –" He looked up in alarm. "I can't make it go away." 

"What?" 

"I can't – do anything," Crowley said, a note of panic entering his voice, as he flailed his arms in various directions. "Aziraphale. Do a miracle, right now." 

"What miracle?!" 

"Anything. Any little thing. The slightest expression of angelic power." 

"Alright," he said, confused and increasingly concerned. He thought for a moment, closed his eyes and one fist, then opened them to reveal – nothing. "What?" he whispered, trying again, but the simple flower he was envisioning did not appear. "I – Crowley, I _can't!"_ His voice rose in horror. 

_"Fuck,"_ spat the demon, jumping to his feet. "We can't do miracles. They've taken our powers away somehow, angel they've – _defanged_ us. We're defenceless." 

Fear coursed through Aziraphale, pounding in his ears and rising up in his throat. No powers? They were as helpless against the might of Heaven and Hell as any of the seven billion humans on the planet – except... "Adam," he said, sounding strangled and far away to his own ears. "We'll – we'll call Adam. He still has power. He can help us." 

"Maybe," said Crowley, clearly unconvinced. "I don't know what else we've got. It's the middle of the night, though, isn't it?" 

"No," Aziraphale said as he hurried to dial the number, with its memorable six-six-six ending. "We started drinking quite early, my dear. You passed out around six pm." 

A moment later, a woman picked up the telephone and greeted him, "Young household, Deidre speaking!" 

"Ah, yes, hello Mrs Young, might I possibly speak to your son Adam, please? It's quite important." 

"Who is this?" 

"Oh, dear, yes, of course, how terribly rude of me," he said, thinking fast. "My name is Mr Fell, I run a bookshop, and your son asked to be notified if we got a certain book in stock." 

"A book?" Mrs Young asked, surprised. 

Crowley, who was listening over Aziraphale's shoulder, whispered, "A comic book?" 

"A comic book," he hastily explained. "Yes, it's a rare comic about an angel." 

"Oh, that makes more sense. Hang on, I'll pass you over. Adam!" She had clearly taken the phone away from her ear, but Aziraphale could still hear as she said, "There's a Mr Fell on the phone for you, from the bookshop, about some angel comic book you asked about?" 

The young antichrist's somewhat confused voice came down the line. "Hello?" 

"Adam! It's Aziraphale here, the angel, from the airbase. I'm with Crowley, the demon."

"You're the ones that helped me and my friends not end the world?" he whispered, obviously not wanting his mother to overhear. 

"Yes, and we survived Heaven and Hell's first attempts to, well, execute us for it, but it seems they've found a new way. We've lost all our powers. We're defenceless." 

"Oh no," said Adam. "Uh. I think I can bring you here. Hold on." He hung up the phone. 

"Bring us there?" Crowley wondered aloud, right before suddenly finding himself and his angel standing just outside the back garden of the Young household. 

"Apparently so," said Aziraphale. 

A moment later, the back door opened and Dog ran out, closely followed by Adam. "Hi," he said. 

"Hello," Aziraphale replied. 

"Hey Adam," Crowley added. "So, we're fucked again." 

"Crowley! Language, please," admonished Aziraphale. "There's a child present." 

"I think I know about a lot worse stuff than swear words," Adam pointed out. "Besides, he already said that in front of me before, at the airbase. When my not-dad was coming." 

"Oh, so he did." 

"Anyway," he continued, "I don't know if I can give you your powers back. I still don't really know how mine work, to be honest. I'm pretty sure I can hide you, though." 

"Hide us?" Crowley said. 

"From the other angels and demons, so they can't find you, like you couldn't find me. So you can't be sensed. That should keep you safe, at least." 

"That sounds like a marvellous idea," said Aziraphale. "Thank you so much." 

"That's alright," Adam shrugged. "Just so long as you don't try to kill me again." 

Aziraphale winced. "I am so terribly sorry about that, you know. I thought it was the only way." 

"I know." 

"For what it's worth, we're both incredibly glad Madame Tracy stopped me in the end." 

"Me too," Adam half-smiled. "You probably shouldn't stay here too long, you know. Once they realise they can't sense you, they'll look where you live first, but they'll probably try around here after. You should go somewhere unexpected. Somewhere they won't think to look." 

"Of course," Aziraphale nodded. "We'll get the next bus out and find somewhere to stay wherever it takes us, how does that sound?" He addressed this to Crowley. 

"I don't know about you, but I don't have any _money_ on me, angel. I usually just miracle that kind of thing." He fished a bank card out of his inside pocket. "This account only has money in because I tell it to." 

"Oh, dear, yes." He turned back to Adam. "I don't suppose..?"

Adam sighed. "One moment." He closed his eyes. Dog, who had been sniffing around both of the visitors, trotted back over and sat by his feet. "Okay," he said after a few seconds, opening his eyes. "I put one millionth of the ten richest people in the world's money into your account. That's hundreds of thousands of pounds and they won't even notice it's gone." 

"That's still stealing, though, isn't it?" Aziraphale pointed out, worried. 

"It's only Robin Hood stealing, though," Crowley reassured him with a hand on his shoulder. "Take from the disgustingly super-rich who have more money than they could ever spend, and give to the poor who have nowhere to stay and no other way of getting literally any money at all." 

"Robin Hood was a rather nice young lad," he said thoughtfully, placated. "Alright. Thank you again, Adam, ever so much."

"You're welcome. You should probably get going, though. I'm supposed to go to bed pretty soon." 

"Yes, quite. Lovely seeing you again, and thanks for everything!" 

"Bye!" said Adam, waving as they turned to leave. "Come on, Dog." 

They made their way to the same bus stop bench they had shared the night the world didn't end, only stopping at a cashpoint on the way. This time, when the bus to Oxford came along, it was really going to Oxford. When they got off in the city centre, they spent an inordinate amount of money on last-minute booking to secure a room at a place called the George Street Hotel for a few nights, then went in search of something to eat. 

Having ordered and settled down at a table in a nearby Thai restaurant, Aziraphale gave a very long sigh. "Well. This is all a bit of a mess, but at least we're safe for the moment." 

"Assuming Adam's done his bit right," said Crowley. 

"Let's hope so." 

"Don't know what we're gonna do long-term. Are we gonna have to get _jobs?_ Can't survive on this antichrist-powered bank account indefinitely. Can we even apply for jobs without minor miracles? We don't _exist,_ we don't have experience, identification, anything. D'you suppose we could put each other down as references and just make shit up?"

"Crowley, please," said Aziraphale, a little shakily. "One thing at a time. We've got plenty of time to figure all that out." 

"Right. Er, sorry."

"It's alright." They lapsed into silence until the food arrived. 

By the time they had eaten, paid the bill, and made their way back to the hotel room, Aziraphale was beginning to feel even stranger. Weaker, somehow. It wasn’t until he suddenly found himself yawning that he realised: he was _tired._

“I’ve never seen you yawn before, angel,” Crowley mumbled sleepily, from the bed.

“I’ve never felt the need,” Aziraphale said. “But I think I’ve just discovered a side-effect of our loss of powers. I’m experiencing fatigue for the first time.”

Crowley sat up. “Are you saying you’re gonna need to sleep?”

“I believe so.”

“There’s, uh. There’s only one bed.”

“Yes, I noticed that.” There was a pause. “You’re going to have to budge over a bit.”

“Ngk,” said Crowley, his face flushing, but he did so. “Are you sure you can’t just book another room?”

“That seems a bit excessive. Besides, it’s late, so who knows if they'll have any left, and even if they do, we’d probably end up on opposite ends of the building and on different floors! There’s plenty of room right here,” he said, sliding in under the covers to demonstrate. “See? Nothing to get in a fuss about.”

“Hhh, yeah, okay, sure.” Crowley flopped down with his back to Aziraphale. “Good luck with the whole sleep thing, it’s pretty weird the first time. Night, angel.” And he flipped the lightswitch on his side of the bed.

He was definitely acting odd, Aziraphale thought. And it wasn't just the loss of their powers, he was sure of that, he'd been noticing it since the apocalypse-that-wasn't. Crowley seemed almost uncomfortable around him, and he hated it. He didn't have much time to muse on this, however, before the strange new sensation of sleep pulled him under, and for the next seven hours, he knew no more. 

Waking up the next morning was confusing and disorientating, but at least he felt very cosy, wrapped up in the thick hotel duvet and the limbs of the demon still sleeping next to him. 

Wait. 

He turned his head. Yes, there was no mistaking it: Crowley, fast asleep and snoring ever so slightly, was cuddling him. 

Aziraphale wiggled experimentally. Crowley clung tighter for a moment, then his eyebrows creased as the snoring stopped. “Good morning,” the angel whispered.

“Mngh. Mmf?” Yellow eyes snapped open and suddenly, Aziraphale was no longer being cuddled. “Shit. Sorry, I – fuck.”

“It’s quite alright! I wasn’t complaining,” he assured him. “It was very comfortable, actually.”

Crowley made a distraught kind of half-whine. “You can’t – we can’t just – _angel!”_

“Well why on earth _not?”_ Aziraphale countered, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at the inexplicably-panicking demon beside him. “What’s stopping us?”

_”Aziraphale.”_ He sighed and reached for his glasses, but Aziraphale caught his wrist. “Hey!”

“Crowley, I don’t understand the way you’ve been acting around me since the world didn’t end. We’re free now! Since last night we’re even completely hidden from Heaven and Hell’s eyes! We can do whatever we damn well want, _including_ cuddle!”

After much spluttering, Crowley hissed, “Why would we want to cuddle?”

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. “I could ask you the same thing!”

“I was asleep! You were – you were _warm,_ I’m a snake, I seek out heat, and you were there.”

He dropped Crowley’s wrist. “I was just the nearest source of heat?”

“I – yes.” He sounded wretched. He also wasn’t meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. He couldn’t be sure, but...

“For a demon, you’re a terrible liar. At least to me.”

In the silence that followed, Aziraphale vaguely wished he could discorporate at will. Had he misjudged things? Was Crowley telling the truth? He really hoped not.

“Fine,” he eventually muttered. “Yes. I cuddled you while you were sleeping. I didn’t expect to still be there when you woke up. Happy now?” He stood up in one abrupt motion, still facing away from the bed, but this time, Aziraphale was fairly certain he _wasn’t_ lying. “Whatever. I’m going to – I’m going for a walk.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly. “Why are you so scared of wanting to be close to me?”

Shrugging, he walked around the bed, picked up his jacket and shoes from where he’d thrown them the night before, and walked out without even stopping to put them on.


End file.
